Five Days of Jess
by 123serendipitee
Summary: As the loft's resident king of heartbreak, Nick is unofficially nominated to navigate the bipolar moods swings of their new roommate. She drives him to distraction, but the more he gets to know her, the more she kinda grows on him. And maybe he's starting to get to know himself a little better along the way, too.
1. Monday

**Disclaimer: "New Girl"? "Flashdance"? Not mine, no how, no way. :o)**

Author's note: This is a sequel to "Worm Holes and Doors to Enlightenment", but stands alone as well. Based on the "New Girl" pilot, I wanted to fanwank a few things that were bothering me:

We're shown Jess watching Dirty Dancing and crying hysterically, and Nick says that "It's been a week of this madness". And then the next thing we know, in the bar, he's talking about how Jess deals with her heartbreak through singing and rainbows and unicorns. So which is it? I wanted to flesh things with her out a little more, to explain this discrepency. :o)

Also wanted to lay more of a foundation to explain why Schmidt was willing to leave the Wild Wild West Auction for her, and why, for heaven's sake, Nick was willing to give up a night with CAROLINE for her.

Anyway, I had fun writing this, and spending a little more time with the characters. I hope you have fun reading it, too. :o)

The morning she asked if he was going to kill her, Nick had already done so, in his head, about five times already.

But that's getting ahead of the story. Let's back up.

They had shared a moment. A moment in which he'd thought they'd kinda made a connection. He'd almost been fooled into believing that their new roommate was not, in fact, completely insane, AND he'd arrogantly allowed himself to believe that the next day, when they all woke up, things would be different.

And at first, they were.

**MONDAY**

He couldn't have told you what woke him up first, Jess's singing, the sound of pots and pans banging, or the smell of bacon and eggs. He smiled a little smugly, patted himself on the back for how effective his little talk with her the night before had been, and hauled himself up out of bed with way more speed and enthusiasm than usual.

But he was careful to saunter casually into the kitchen, and to react to her trilled, "GOOOOOD morning, NIIIICK!" as if it were the total norm.

"What will it be for you, Mr. Miller? Are you a bacon man?"

"Do I possess a penis, Miss Day?"

"So is that a 'yes' to bacon?"

"Does the Pope wear a funny hat?"

"Could we keep communicating in question form all day?"

"Do you really feel like you're up to it?"

"The question is, do you?"

"Do you have anything else to do between now and 6 p.m. when I have to go to work?"

"OH SHOOT!" She dropped their little game as fast as she'd picked it up, and looked at her watch. "Gotta fly dudes! You'll have to grab your seconds on your own!" She jabbed a triangle of toast between her teeth, gathered up a ridiculous number of sacks, bags, and satchels, waved jauntily towards her roommates with the one little pinky finger that she had left free, and disappeared out the door in a flit of plaid.

When Nick turned back towards Coach and Schmidt, they were sitting frozen over their cooling breakfasts, jaws dropped, and eyes full of questions.

"Dude, what happened last night?"

"You said you'd talked, but you didn't tell us you were a damn wizard!"

He brushed off their shock and awe with affected modesty, mumbling only, "Ehhhh, I took care of it, you know? I took care of it, that's all. It's over. That's all you need to know."

Coach resumed jabbing at his eggs with his usual misplaced display of aggression. "Unreal, man. Truly impressive."

"I was so shocked I didn't even think to ask whether or not she seasoned the griddle first." Schmidt held up a dripping fork. "French toast, man. French toast that I did not make. Has this ever happened in this apartment, in like, HISTORY?" He stuck the fork in his mouth, and closed his eyes assessingly. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Missing the korjinte cinnamon, but she can be taught..."

Coach polished off his plate, and pushed away from the table with a palm slap that made the salt and pepper shakers jump in alarm. "This is all you, Nick. All you. We owe you, man."

"Indeed, Nick. You are, in fact, da man. And I say that completely non-ironically."

Nick continued to deflect their admiration and gratitude as they all headed their separate ways, but a smug glow of self-congratulation kept him company the rest of the day.

Until about twelve hours later.

He was wiping down the bar when the cryptic texts started coming in:

"You took care of it, huh. Nice work."

"In case you're wondering, IT'S NOT OVER."

"But you being da man...THAT is over."

And when he finally walked in the loft late that night, his ominous suspicions were confirmed.

Because darn if she wasn't camped out on the darn couch again, in front of the same damn movie, as if she'd never left.

And although Nick had never before had much of an opinion one way or the other about Patrick Swayze, right now he hated him with the kind of passionate scorn that he usually reserved for vegans and Knicks fans.

He wasted no time wading into the mopey scene in front of him. "Jess, what the hell?"

Her "little" voice was back again when she answered, "Whaaaat?"

"We talked about this! Didn't we talk about this?"

"What?"

"Moving on? Getting better? You were doing so good this morning, Jess! What happened to this morning?"

"This morning...I cooked breakfast this morning."

Oh gawd, it was like talking to the feeble-minded again. "Yes. Yes, you did, Jess."

"And then I went to work..."

"Yeeeees..."

"And I did really good Nick! I did! Things were better, and...and I was better...and..."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Somewhere between school and home I just started thinking about riding naked in the back of that taxi, and how long ago that was, and how young I was then..."

"...you do realize you're making no sense..."

"..and I just..." She suddenly showed a flare of spirit. "I just needed to watch Dirty Dancing again, okay Nick! It makes me feel better. I don't know why. We all have that thing that comforts us, you know? You have your beer, I have my movie. Is that so wrong?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His beer. Yeah, he self-medicated with beer. He was aware. But for this little damp twit of a girl who'd barely even seemed to stop gazing at her own navel since she'd arrived, to not only notice but to have the nerve to point it out...

He just reeled away and stalked towards his room. Whether she heard him say "Screw you, psycho," before slamming his door, he never knew.


	2. Tuesday

**TUESDAY**

This time he knew what woke him up. Jess and Schmidt were bickering like an old married couple, with Coach bellowing "SHUT UP!" every twenty seconds or so. Nick rubbed his face with a groan of dread.

Still, bacon was bacon, and he did possess a penis. So he crawled out of bed.

"Jessica Day, if I have to tell you one more time... I'll tell you what, give...just...GIVE me... THAT..." Schmidt was wrestling a spatula out of her hand when Nick walked in. He ignored the Dysfunctional Cooking Duo as he made the straightest line possible to the coffee pot...but Jess stopped slap-fighting Schmidt the second she saw him, and began tagging after him like an excited puppy.

"NICK! Guess what? It's a bRANd new day! And you know what that means?" She didn't really seem to expect him to answer, which was good, because he wasn't going to. "BRAND new possibilities! Everywhere you look! HEY! Here's a possibility! There's a possibility! Is that a possibility over there?" She was pointing wildly with a spoon she'd picked up, and Schmidt was running around frantically wiping up the droplets of butter that were flying off of it, practically before they hit the counter.

"THAT'S IT! Okay, seriously Jess, you're fired! You're fired for the day! I'm taking over! Just...just fill a plate and go SIT, for the love of God." Schmidt ran a composing hand down his face as he watched her grin and salute jauntily.

"Aye aye, captain! Right after I get Nick his bacon!"

"NO Jess!"

"I can get my own bacon Jess." He'd spoken quietly, but his words suddenly seemed to ring loud in the room, anyway.

"Weeeell, he speaks!" she drawled, patting Nick on the back. "Good morning to you too, Sunshine!" She pushed past him and took her plate to the table, where she sat across from Coach and started eating with a merry enthusiasm that seemed to ignore the fact that at least two out of her three roommates were currently pissed off at her. And Coach was always questionable.

"Do you guys know..." she said, licking a drop of syrup off her top lip, and waving a finger to emphasize the importance of the statement to come, "...that the first episode of 'Joanie Loves Chachi' was the highest rated American TV program on Korean television. Turns out, 'Chachi' is Korean for" she lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially, "penis."

Nick practically threw his plate down at the head of the table, plopped down in a chair, started to shovel in some food, and ignored the conversation that followed between her and Coach.

"Did you just wiggle an imaginary cigar while saying the word 'penis'?"

"What? no! I mean, I don't think so."

"Because if you can't say the word penis without knocking imaginary ash off of an imaginary cigar, doesn't that make you, like, 12?"

"And paradoxically, born in, like, 1936?" Schmidt joined them, seeming a little calmer now, but still ruffled.

Jess continued to be unflappingly uninsulted, and merely tilted her head in thoughtful consideration. "That may explain why I've been accused of being both juvenile, and an old soul."

"Wait, what explains that?"

"No theory explaining that has been advanced here."

"You'da thunk they would have changed the name 'Chachi' to something less scandelous when they aired it there."

His three roommates turned towards his sudden statement in blank surprise. Dammit, did those words come out of HIS mouth? Right when he'd decided to just eat his bacon and cut out of there without getting caught up in her nonsense, here he was, dignifying her nonsense with a perfectly logical observation.

But the brilliant smile that he was rewarded with sort of made him forget why he was ever mad at her to begin with, and damn if he didn't find himself giving her a little smile back in return.

And damn if the smiles didn't kinda feel like unspoken apologies and forgivenessess.

"What about Chang-hi?" Schmidt's voice broke the little daze Nick had found himself in.

"Huh?"

"Korean Chachi. What about Chin-hwa? Chun-hee? Chung-ho?"

Coach was wide-eyed. "Dude, are you spouting off actual Korean names, or just being horribly offensively racist? Please let me know, so I know whether or not I should feel like punching you right now."

"Oh Coach, " Jess patted his hand lovingly as she cooed, "You always feel like punching someone!"

"Korean cooking lessons, bro. Summer of '98. I was the only white boy in the class. Represent, whaaaat?"

Nick vaguely looked around for the douche-bag jar, but was more preoccupied with saying, "OR-what if they changed it to something that sounded completely innocent in Korean, but still meant 'penis' in English?"

His roommates greeted this hypothetical possibility not only as if it made sense, but as if it was, in fact, brilliant. They finished their breakfasts while proferring viable options, and even Coach was laughing so hard that he forgot to punch anyone for possible racism. Favorite suggestions included "Wang-dong", and "Hung-Lo".

And Nick found his mouth doing this weird thing...this weird, tipped-up at the corners thing...for hours after everyone had left for work.

-

He and Jess amused themselves by texting a few more random name ideas back and forth throughout the day, and soon he found himself automatically smiling in a Pavlovian response every time his phone vibrated. Once he was at work he couldn't always check it right away, and the prospect of a silly little message from her, just waiting there for him in his pocket, somehow made the whole night seem a little lighter and brighter.

When The Perfect Name finally occurred to him, he decided not to text it to her, but to save it for breakfast the next morning. If it was because he wanted to see her blue eyes light up, and her pert nose crinkle, and her scarlet lips tilt in response in person, well, that was something that he didn't admit, even to himself.

But he did imagine the husky giggle that his Perfectly Obvious suggestion would elicit.

He got home in the wee hours of the morning, and before he even slipped his key in the door, he saw the blue light of the TV shining beneath it, and knew that she was still up. Walking in and finding her watching Dirty Dancing was almost comforting in its familiarity.

He went to the kitchen, got a beer out of the fridge, and then joined her quietly, with a content sigh of weariness.

She didn't even look up at him, but launched straight into asking, "Do you ever wish you had a dog?"

"Why do you ask? Is there a dog in this movie?"

"No, you just seem like a dog kind of a guy. When you walked in, it seemed like there should be a dog here to run to the door and greet you. Something big and sloppy and drooly. You could train it to get your beers from the fridge, and then it could lay down in front of the couch and you could use it for an ottoman in between scratching its ears with your feet." She perkily pantomined the action.

Nick cocked his head at her in contemplation, and wondered for a second why his face was hurting. Then he realized that he hadn't smiled this much in one day for as long a he could remember.

"You're the strangest girl I ever met." Was what he _wanted_ to say. But he knew it would sound more like an insult than a compliment, so he let the moment pass.

"Why are you still up? I worked overtime, it's got to be about 4 a.m. You have work tomorrow, you should be in bed."

"It's got to be about 4 a.m.,_ you _have work tomorrow, you shouldn't be drinking."

Defensive anger flashed through him and he said, "Dammit Jess, seriously? I'm just trying to look out for you, here!"

She raised an ironic eyebrow and merely said, "Ditto, sailor."

"Son of a...!" But it was hard to argue with truth, and the anger left him as fast as it had flared. "Oh, ok, fine...touche'."

They sat watching the movie in silence for few minutes, and he suddenly felt intensely how very much they really were alike. Both hurting more than anyone knew, and both handling it in their own defective ways.

"Cock-chi."

She looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Korean Chachi. It was staring us in the face the whole time. Cock-chi. You won't be able to top that one, so didn't even try."

And sure enough, her eyes crinkled, and her nose tilted, and her mouth lit up.

Or something like that.

He was really tired, and it was hard to think very clearly when she laughed that husky little giggle, not much more than the sound of the air escaping her body.

He stood up, and saluted her with his bottle before downing its remains.

"And with that, Miss Day, I bid you adieu. Morning will come way too early, please do remember that I like my bacon extra crispy."

And as he headed towards bed, the Dirty Dancing soundtrack trailed behind him like a lullaby. Yes, it had become predictable, but in Nick Miller's world, predictable was a good thing.


	3. Wednesday

**WEDNESDAY**

Yep, Nick liked predictability. Things that ran like clock work. Two plus two equaling four. Things going as expected.

And how quickly he had come to expect to awaken, somehow, to muffled clinks and scrapes and assorted sizzling noises, from the kitchen.

So he supposed it was the very quiet that woke him up, this morning. But he'd decided that he liked this new thing, this getting up to hang with his roommates in the morning, even if he just had to go back to bed after they left in order to get enough sleep to go back to work that night.

So he walked in, all blinking and fuzzy, to see Coach and Schmidt nursing bowls of cold cereal.

"Where's Jess?", they asked him.

He squinted at them. "How the heck should I know?" But after he poured a cup of coffee and took a deep smell, he remembered clearly enough to say, "She was up really late last night. Maybe she slept through her alarm."

Coach glanced at the clock. "Well you better go check, before she's late for school."

Nick gave them another grumpy look. "Since when did she become my responsibility?"

Schmidt shrugged. "Just seems like you and she have a lot in common. Horrible break-ups, total break-downs, and all that."

"I!" he pointed at them indignently, "did not! have a breakdown!"

Schmidt and Coach just looked at him pointedly, until he sighed.

"Ok, fine...I'll go check on her."

He felt incredibly awkward knocking on her door, and when he heard her muffled voice on the other side, he asked, "You up, Jess?"

Her "yes" in reply was tiny and wobbley.

"Can..." he stopped, at a loss, and looked up to the ceiling, where he found no help. "Can I...come in?"

"Yes.""

He cracked the door open slowly, and tentatively peeked in. He still wasn't used to the fact that, after all these years, a _girl_ was living here now. Even something as simple as a flowered bedspread was still enough to catch him off guard, so the little entrapments of femininity spread around the room...the earrings on the bedside table, and the long hairs woven through the bristles of the brush laying next to them...were enough to make him feel, uneasily, that he was treading on intimate territory.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, in her flannel pajamas, holding what looked like a trench coat.

She looked up at him, and her words were a statement, but hit him under the ribs like a plea. "I was just getting out my clothes for the day, and the second I touched it, it all came back to me. All those feelings."

She said it like he should know what she was talking about. Sat there looking at him with big wet eyes, like he'd be able to help, somehow.

"I..." his voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. "I'm sorry, Jess. I know how you feel, I really do. But...ummm...are you going to work this morning? Because if you are, it's getting pretty late."

He winced at his own lack of finesse, but she seemed to snap into focus then, and it was a relief not to have those eyes fixed on him like she was expecting something from him, anymore. 'Cause he had nuttin'.

"YES, thank you, I...yes, I need to get ready." But she kept sitting there, absently stroking the coat.

"Ok, well..." Nice was feeling like he'd been spectacularly UNhelpful in whatever this crisis was, but he brightened when he thought to ask, "Hey, want me to go fix you a piece of toast or something?"

And then she was looking at him again, with those eyes that seemed to see straight through him to a place that he wasn't even aware that he kept hidden from people. "No thank you Nicholas. But that's sweet."

He wasn't sure he was comfortable yet with how intimate his given name always sounded on her lips, and he was questionably comfortable being called "sweet" while she was regarding him with that sadly serious smile. But the both combined with the fact that he was standing in the doorway to her girly bedroom while she was sitting there on her bed looking mussy and vulnerable all just made him feel itchy and decidedly UNcomfortable. So he mumbled some see-yas and took his cooling coffee back to his own room where he remembered that he had to go to work early that afternoon, set it on his nightstand, and went back to sleep.

So he never heard her door fail to open and shut that morning.

What he_ did _hear, at about 1:00 that afternoon, was the soundtrack to Flashdance blaring from across the hall.

This time he felt decidedly less reluctant to knock on her door.

When she opened it he blinked once at the off-the-shoulder sweatshirt she was wearing, but totally ignored the spastic jog-dance she was doing. "What the hell Jess?"

Her hair was piled on top of her head, and hanging in sweaty strings around her glowing face. "Gettin' the old endorphins goin', Miller! Take your passion! Make it happen!"

She was singing now, and jigging in a circle.

"Jess...Jess...JESS!" He started to reach out and grab her to get her attention, but made a face when he couldn't see anyplace on her that wasn't currently looking damp and unsavory.

She finally stopped circling, slightly dizzy, and her eyes almost crossed as she listed to the side a bit and tried to focus on him. "Yeah?"

He ran a hand down his face. Where to start.

"Ok, well...ONE...did you go to work today?"

A shadow touched her eyes, but she flipped a dismissive hand, pushed reality away again, and continued singing, "I can have it all! Now I'm dancin' through my life!"

He rolled his eyes, giving up. "Ok, then let's address the next thing that should be obvious, which is that, HELLO, I work late hours, my room is right across the hall, and I WAS trying to sleep!"

She had the grace to look genuinely mortified, and she rushed over to turn off the music. The sudden silence was loud in the room as she mumbled sheepishly, "Ooops, my bad! I'm sorry Nicholas, I forgot you were even here!"

He waved her off wearily and turned back towards his own room. "Just...nevermind, it's about time for me to get up anyway. I have to go in early." He stopped in the middle of the hall for a second, before turning back to look at her quizzically and ask, "Are you...are you ok?"

She gave him a smile that sparkled with forced brilliance, and answered merely, "Never better!"

But he saw the sadness of reality creeping in around the corners of her eyes again...and was vaguely sorry to be the one who had to make that happen.

When the texts from Coach and Schmidt started coming in, early that evening, he wasn't surprised. He'd dressed and left for work without seeing Jess or speaking to her again, but the silence behind her closed door had felt ominous, like a brewing storm.

"Jess is being Jess again."

"Seriously, I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Is there any way you can get off work early?"

"We're at Code Orange, Nick. Code Orange."

He'd squinted and sniffed at that one, texting back, "Code Orange? Huh?"

"Oh..." Schmidt replied. "Sorry-forgot that in the past we always used Code Orange in reference to you. If that tells you anything."

It really didn't, other than that it couldn't mean anything good. Nick blew out a deep breath, made a call or two until he found someone to fill in for him, and headed home expecting the worst.

Sifting through his pockets for the key to the apartment, Nick wondered: which hour of Dirty Dancing would they be on? Five? Six? He supposed that the number of Kleenex boxes surrounding her would be an accurate indication.

Or maybe she'd turned Flashdance back on and had danced herself into a catatonic state, tarantella style.

Or maybe she'd been in the shower for four straight hours, trying to wash her sadness away. He gave his head a shake to dismiss the memory that had prompted that particular thought, swallowed the lump of dread in his throat, and walked in.

To a perfectly normal looking scene.

Coach, kicked back on the couch watching golf, didn't even look up, but just raised a finger in greeting.

Schmidt was on his laptop, looking perfectly calm and relaxed.

And Jess could be heard in the kitchen, humming a happy but quiet tune. The sweet smell of baked goods filled the apartment, and Nick failed to see how that could be a bad thing. In fact, he was starting to get more than a little pissed that he'd been called away from work, and had rushed home all worried..for this?

Schmidt looked up, and Nick held out "What the hell?" hands at him.

Schmidt just widened his eyes, and pointed towards the kitchen.

Nick started in that direction, but nearly ran smack into Jess, who was sashaying into the room carrying a plate of cupcakes.

"Oh, HEY Nick! You're home early! I was just making a snack for the guys!"

She proceeded to carry the plate to Schmidt and Coach, offering them her wares. When they refused in what Nick found to be a rude and impatient fashion, he had to stifle the urge to go smack them upside their heads.

Yeah, so Jess liked to bake. It cheered her up when she was depressed. Big deal!

He took stock of her demeanor: other than the white smudge on the tip of her nose, she looked tidy and non-manic. Her smile was serene, and her mood seemingly calm and unflappable. She offered him the plate and asked, "Cupcake, Nick?"

"Don't mind if I do!" he said a little loudly, hoping that his roommates would take note of his manners. Biting into the pink confection was like licking a cotton candy cloud, and he closed his eyes for a little blissed-out moment as he followed her back towards the kitchen.

"Why are you home early? Are you feeling ok?"

He opened his eyes to answer her, but the words froze in his throat.

Every available flat surface in the kitchen and dining area was covered. With cupcakes.

He turned in a slow circle, big-eyed, and mouth-agape, taking in the pastel explosion of every conceivable combination of icing and sprinkles, all artfully arranged .

"Oh my gaaaawd, Jess?"

"Hmmmm?" she tilted her head and gave him a look that was completely innocent of the insanity insinuated by the scene surrounding them.

"What the...are you getting ready for a bake sale or something?" Please God, let there be a bake sale afoot.

"Hmmm? No, just felt like doing a little baking this afternoon." She lowered her voice and pointed covertly towards the livingroom. "I don't think Coach and Schmidt care much for sweets. They've only had ten each." She offered him another plate, this one filled with blue-swirled mini-cakes that smelled like raspberry coconut snowcones.

He was still holding the half-eaten pink one, but absently accepted the blue with his other hand. "Jess, are you...is this..." NORMAL? he wanted to ask. But of course, this _wasn't_ normal behavior, for normal people. What he really needed to ask was if it was JESS-normal, and he couldn't figure out how to do that without it sounding like an insult. And this time it probably really was.

Thankfully, she seemed to have her mind on other things, as she untied the coy vintage-style apron that was covering her jeans and tshirt. "Well anyway, help yourself Nick. I'm going to take some over to Cece and her model friends. I hope they taste as good coming back up as they do going down." She rolled her eyes and grimaced at the grossness of her own joke, grabbed a plate, and headed out the door.

After staring around himself in disbelief a few more seconds, Nick walked heavily over to the couch, sat next to the guys, carefully balanced a cupcake on each knee, and then crossed his arms in conspicuous silence.

When he finally spoke, the sarcasm was palpable. "So. I'm really glad you guys called me home from work so I could watch golf and eat cupcakes with you."

"Dude, I'm sorry, we didn't know she was about to leave. We didn't know what else to do...she kept sending us out for more eggs and powdered sugar...and she was starting to talk brownies!"

Coach rubbed his stomach and groaned, "I don't even want to crunch the numbers on how many extra workouts I'm going to have to do, to make up for this."

"Okay, but what I want to know is...what makes you guys think_ I _can do anything about it? I barely even know the girl!"

"Yeah but dude, you've been there, right?"

"Yeah," Schmidt jumped in, "King of Post-Breakup Crazies...Queen of Post-Breakup Crazies...it's like the universe has put you together. Some horrible, cruel universe that apparently really has it in for me and Coach, the innocent by-standers in all of this."

He and Coach exchanged silent fist-bumps in mutual empathy.

"Guys, please! I was NEVER that bad!"

Again, they just leveled him with looks of unspoken significance, and he jumped up, "Ok, you know what, I guess I'll just go enjoy the rest of this _unexpected evening _off. If you need me, I'll be in my room...EATING CUPCAKES."

"OOOO, try the yellow one!"

"Yeah man, and the one that smells like mojitos. It's the bombdiggity."

-

Nick woke up from his sugar-coma to hear Irene Cara wafting over from across the hall again, this time at acceptable levels of roommate-consideration.

But he found himself knocking on her door anyway.

"Come in."

Nick peeked in to see Jess ready for bed again, pj-ed up, and face shining cleanly from a fresh scrub. "Flashdance again, huh?"

She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled a tiny smile. "It was a feel-good classic about a can-do girl with a dream."

He leaned against the doorframe. "Thanks for the cupcakes."

She squenched up her face sheeplishly. "Yeah...um...sorry about that. Guess I went a little over-board."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Then no problem."

Jess smiled her thanks up at him, her blue eyes tired but at peace behind her heavy glass frames.

"Ok, well...just wanted to check on you one last time." He rapped twice on her doorframe, before turning away to leave.

"Nick..."

"Yeah?"

"Um...thanks for coming home from work...you know...just to check on me."

He really didn't know what to say. It wasn't _his_ idea, and he'd been pissed about it all night. But right now, with her smiling that shy smile at him, wild horses couldn't have made him admit that.

"Sure. But...Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to work tomorrow." He pointed at her with a mock fatherly air of bossiness.

"Yes sir!" She smiled and saluted.

"And you're not baking another cupcake!"

She laughed. "Absolutely not!"

"Alright then! Take your passion and make it happen...and...all that."

She didn't answer, but the happy way she crinkled her nose up at him made him glad that somehow this horrible universe _had_ seen fit to throw them together.

Even if Schmidt and Coach really didn't deserve it.


	4. Thursday

**THURSDAY**

Maybe it goes without saying that they had cupcakes for breakfast the next day. And that she sent some along with them to work. Nick thought he'd finally worked his way through every flavor, and other than the strawberry rootbeer one ("It was an experiment! They were the only extracts left in the cupboard!") each one was more spectacular than the last.

It seemed heartbreak was a vital ingredient in delicious baked goods. Who knew.

That night when he got home, she was sitting at the diningroom table, surrounded by the few plates she had left after giving away cupcakes to everyone she could think of. She was absently toying with a big red bow.

He joined her in the soft light that was haloing the table.

"Cupcake?" she asked, with an ironic smirk.

He just held his stomach and rolled his eyes.

"Yeeeeah." She began contemplating that bow again like it held the secrets to the universe. He realized that he'd seen it before, amongst the sea of used kleenex's and Chinese take-out that surrounded her crying jags.

"So...wanna talk about this thing?" Nick reached out to grab it, and was taken aback when Jess quickly snatched it out of his reach.

"EwwWWW, Nick! Don't touch it! Gross!"

"WOW Jess, I'm sorry I'm not good enough to touch the Sacred Bow of Something Spencer Gave You Onetime, or whatever that is! Geez!"

He was confused when she started laughing helplessly. "Oh no, Nick...that's not it, I promise!" Her laughter died down just as quickly, and she changed the subject. "How was work?"

"Same as ever. How about you? How's work going for you these days? You know...um...when you actually go."

Jess smiled sadly and said, "I guess you guys all think I'm a real loser, don't you. I know I act nutty around here, but I am a professional. I pull it together at work. I'm really good at what I do, Nick."

The passion for her job came through her voice and Nick nodded his respect. "I have no doubt you are, Jess." Well okay, he_ had _been doubting it. But he wouldn't now. "But, so, good, you do realize that your behavior around the apartment has been a little...bi-polar? Sometimes?"

She smiled again...only Jess could smile so much when she was sad...and answered. "Yeah, I realize. And you guys have just been the best...I can't believe you've put up with me. Coach and Schmidt were so sweet yesterday, making themselves sick on cupcakes for me..."

Her voice trailed off fondly, and Nick made mental apologies to his roommates, before she continued, "...and YOU, Nick...I know I get on your nerves more than anyone's, but even you have tried really hard to be patient with me."

Nick felt suddenly guilty. "Jess, I'm the last person who should have any right to feel impatient with you. I mean, I don't remember a lot of it, but apparently I wasn't always the most...sane...person to live with either, after...after...after Caroline broke up with me."

"Six months ago?"

"Yeah."

"So six months from now I'm still going to have a hard time saying Spencer's name?" she asked wryly, searching his face.

"Yeah...and hearing it, too. But guess what Jess. Life goes on. Your life will go on. You're not like me...you've got talent and spirit and...a job you love...and...yeah. You're gonna be okay."

After a silent second or two she reached out to pat his hand, and suddenly it felt like_ he _was the one being comforted. So he jumped up and said some quick goodnights, and was all the way in his room before he realized that he hadn't even grabbed a beer when he came in. And he sure wasn't going to go in there and walk past her to get one, now. Dammit. Damn her.


	5. Friday

**FRIDAY**

Damn her. The last thought in his head when he went to sleep was also the first thought in his head the next morning when he woke to hear the strains of Dirty Dancing wafting back from the livingroom.

Every time he thought she might be getting herself together, she had to go and relapse. More to the point, every time he thought he'd been able to help her somehow, she proved him wrong. And Nick Miller had had enough of feeling like a complete failure in life.

He wasn't doing this anymore. This...THIS. This, whatever this was. With her. He was done.

So today when he got out of bed, he was a man with a mission, and that mission was: find Schmidt, whose fault all this was, and MAKE HIM FIX IT. Before he went completely insane.

He barely glanced her way as he walked past, but saw enough to know she'd obviously spent the night camped out there. She was on the phone talking to her mother, trying to convince her that everything was ok, both with her emotional state, and her new living conditions.

So yeah, when she asked if he was going to kill her because he was a stranger she met on the internet, he answered in the affirmative. Because he already had, in his head, about five times already.

When Coach and Schmidt came bounding in from an early morning, "Gotta burn off those cupcakes" jog, Schmidt was all a-buzz about that charity auction that he liked to attend for completely NON-charitable reasons, every year.

Nick was having none of it. He shut Schmidt up and forced him to consider the current drama playing out on the couch.

"We are in this situation because of YOU. It has been a week of this madness. I'm going crazy, Schmidt. I can't take it."

So Schmidt had vowed to take care of it.

But...a REBOUND?

Nick was pretty positive that Jess was not ready for a rebound. But who was he to talk...his best efforts hadn't seemed to help. And darn if she wasn't sitting up straight and actually looking a little happy and hopeful, for once. Damn it, she even made up a theme song about it.

That afternoon she wasted no time getting home from school, and when she walked in she didn't even bother to shut the door before posing in the frame, and making a production out of singing with conscious coquettishness: "She's going out to find a rebound...who's that girl...IT'S JESS!"

She then grinned sassily at Nick, as she went to set her bags down. "Hola, Nicholas! are you ready to find me a boooooyfriend, tonight?"

He just rolled his eyes and shook his head, but couldn't help smiling when her back was turned. But he made sure his air was composed and slightly annoyed again by the time she plopped down and joined him on the couch.

"So! I decided I'm wearing my glasses tonight! " she said, as if she expected him to argue with her.

He just raised an apathetic eyebrow at her.

"Here's some Jess-trivia for you. True story. I have had these same frames for almost 20 years. Yep. I was quite the Lisa Loeb fan, in jr. high."

Nick just shoveled in another handful of popcorn, and didn't even pretend to care.

"So I figure, this is me, you know? This is who I am. And if a new guy doesn't like it, then he doesn't deserve to be my rebound!"

Nick finally looked at her. "I guess I'm missing why this is a big deal? Who cares if you wear your glasses or not?"

Jess just looked at him like he was stupid. "Everyone knows that guys don't notice girls with glasses, Nick. You take the high-school nerd, put her in a dress, take down her ponytail, and buy her some contacts, and suddenly her best friend's brother, who she's been crushing on since the second grade, realizes that she's a hottie with a body. Why am I having to explain this to you? You've seen movies."

Nick just surveyed her dispassionately, scooped up another handful of popcorn, and shrugged. "I think they're cute on you."

Jess's mouth opened with surprised pleasure as she gave his arm a back-handed little slap that knocked half the popcorn out of his hand, while it was on its way to his mouth.

"Why...Nicholas! That is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me!"

Schmidt came banging through the door and began barking orders like a military general. "Nick...Jess...why are you just sitting on the couch like this is any ordinary day? Tonight we are on a mission, and we're going to run this on a strict schedule. Let's face it, this could take all night. Jess, why aren't you in the shower? I want you in a sexy dress, with your hair down and curly. AND NO GLASSES."

Jess looked at Nick and motioned as if to say, "See?", as she jumped up and followed Schmidt into the kitchen.

"Hey SCHMIDT, you got any friends you could introduce me to?"

He made a face. "Ehhhhh, I don't know Jess! That could get really awkward, really fast! Rebounds are quick and brutal affairs. Sprints, not marathons. Bridges, meant only to assist you in getting on to the next stage in life, before they go down in firey flames behind you."

"Exactly! That's why a friend of yours would be perfect."

"I'm not following you."

"I just figure that if all I'm after is a meaningless, ego-boosting hookup, I wouldn't want it to be with someone who I might actually_ like_, want to spend time with, and miss when they're gone again! Ergo...a friend of yours would be perfect!"

Schmidt glared balefully at Nick, who had begun laughing long before Jess's speech was finished. "I don't know what _you're_ laughing about. _You_ are a friend of mine, ERGOOO, _you_ have just been insulted too."

"Don't care. It's still funny!" Nick grinned, and he tossed a kernal up and caught it in his mouth while he watched Jess skip off to start getting ready.

That night at the bar, the fact that he was working gave him a good excuse to let Schmidt and Coach take over Jess's man hunt.

He just provided the pink wine. That was as much of an accessory as he wanted to feel to this crazy rebound scheme.

Still, he couldn't help watching her, with a kind of fatherly sense of protectiveness, as she flitted around the bar, being Jess, wearing her glasses, and NOT wearing a sexy dress.

She did, however, wear her hair down, and Nick couldn't help but notice how different it looked from a lot of the bar-crawling chicks that he was used to parading in and out. Yeah, her hair was insanely long and thick, and yeah, it had taken her a full 45 minutes just to curl it tonight, much to Schmidt's chagrin. But somehow it lacked the contrived artificiality of hair spray and highlights and extentions that a lot of women these days had adopted in pursuit of "hotness".

Instead, hers looked like...like...like...GAH, his brain repeatedly rejected the asinine "fairy princess" comparison that kept popping into his head, because, after all, he was a DUDE. With a PENIS. For Pete's sake. So he finally just settled for thinking, "Her hair looks nice tonight", and moved on.

She was bombing spectacularly, but seemed to be having a good time doing it. And honestly, Coach and Schmidt seemed to be having a good time too. Nick tried to ignore, again, the feeling that his friends were succeeding where he had, yet again, failed.

And then she was sitting in front of him, gnawing undaintily but still somehow charmingly on a plate of chicken wings, saying, "Well, I guess I can't hide my crazy!"

"I don't think you're trying that hard," Nick pointed out, but she didn't seem too disturbed by either his observation, or her own. Or, for that matter, by the one she made next:

"Look at us, a couple of losers, we both got dumped, GEESH."

"I'm fine," Nick, as usual, insisted. But she wouldn't let it go. Whether it was the pink drinks or just normal female nosiness, she wouldn't shut up about it. Why did Caroline break up with him? Did he wonder if there was anything he could have done differently? He shouldn't keep it all inside, he should learn to express himself so that he didn't end up being a bitter old man filled with regret. BLAH BLAH BLAH.

He tried being mean to her in defense, but that didn't work. Not when her eyes were sparkling like that, and her mouth was twisted into that wry little smirk. Dammit, how could Jess annoy the hell out of you, and still manage to be so cute at the same time? Like a half-grown kitten that wouldn't stop attacking your foot, or something. He couldn't even finish insulting her without smiling, which sort of took all the bite out of it.

And having to _explain_ to someone that you're being mean to them also sort of defeats the purpose.

So by the time she was making up a grumpy theme song for_ him _he felt he had no other form of recourse than to point out that her left boob was resting in the plate of chicken wings.

But even that didn't rattle her.

He was a little suspicious but mostly relieved when Benjamin's fellow-tool approached her. For a flirty minute or two there, he had started feeling like Jess was succeeding with him where she'd failed with every other guy that night...and the thought that maybe he was just that desperate for a rebound, himself, was a disturbing one. Besides, he had a text to send.

Because being a bitter_ young _man filled with regret was bad enough.

And somehow, when he had the balls to simply text Caroline asking a favor for a friend, and no more, it was because a certain be-spectacled imp with lots of black hair seemed to be hovering around his shoulder, cheering him on.

And he had a feeling that, for as many times as he wanted to be able to just swat her away like a pesky gnat, their new roommate was going to end up being _almost _as endearing as she was annoying.

Even if he did want to kill her at least once a day.

-

"So...P-Funk, huh?"

"Huh?"

"Schimdt's friend."

"Oh...yeah. HEY!" she brightened as she realized, "I knew one of Schmidt's friends would make a perfect rebound!"

Nick sniffed scornfully. "Clearly you haven't seen enough of Schmidt's friends."

"Well you and Coach are his friends, and I think you're both real nice!"

Nick smiled at her perky politeness, and fought down a little gnawing worry about her naivity regarding THAT particular segment of Schmidt's social circle.

They were sitting in the dark in the livingroom, watching Coach take out his aggression through a boxing video game.

"Look Coach!" Jess cheered encouragingly, "There's blood coming out his ear! You're doing real good!"

She lapsed back into the quiet place where she and Nick were keeping one another near-wordless company, in between laughing at the snores that erupted periodically from the end of the couch where Schmidt was passed out.

"Look how innocent he looks when he's asleep!"

"He's wiped out...I think finding any takers for me was a harder job than he even anticipated."

"Stop that."

"What?"

"Stop...stop acting like you're not a perfectly nice girl with...you know...perfectly pretty hair...or...whatever."

She grinned her thanks at Nick, but chided him gently, "Come on Nick, I know I'm not every guy's cup of tea. I think I'm a bit of an aquired taste."

"Well then," he lied, just because he felt like he should already start building her up for the inevitable post-rebound let-down, "it's their loss!"

She wrinkled her nose at him in a way that made it clear she knew exactly what he was doing, and wasn't buying any of it, but appreciated all of it.

Coach successfully knocked out his on-screen opponent, and jumped up to do a loud victory dance. Schmidt lurched in his sleep, mumbled, "No Jess...just...put down the beer nuts", and then drifted off again.

Coach and Jess eyed one another, remembering the moment that evening that Schmidt was apparently dreaming about, and then burst into laughter at the same time. Nick had no idea what the joke was, but it occurred to him that he'd never seen Coach laugh as much as he seemed to when Jess was around.

"Well, if my three fairy godmothers here will excuse me, I've had a crazy week, and I think I better get some sleep before my big date tomorrow. Thank you for everything, Coach!" She stood and started to give him a hug, but when he was obviously discomfited by the prospect, she settled for an extremely girly and awkward fist bump.

Then she stopped and kissed Schmidt on top of his head on her way out. "For being my guide. Don't tell him I did that."

"Don't worry!" Nick and Coach said in unison, with squenched faces of disgust.

And as her flannel clad fanny disappeared around the corner, Nick randomly found himself deciding that Jessica Day must never be allowed to learn about the near-decade of his life that he spent crushing madly on Lisa Loeb.


End file.
